


Come Back To Me

by LittleDesertFlower



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, One Shot, Post-Volume 4 (RWBY)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 05:06:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12833934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleDesertFlower/pseuds/LittleDesertFlower
Summary: Finally, Blake and Yang are reunited. But it’s nothing like Blake had planned it.(find me at @fic_flower)





	Come Back To Me

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a friend of mine who loves Bumblebee (our fangirly chats fuel me) :3

Maybe it makes sense. Blake knows she deserves it. Blake knows she should’ve seen it coming. But she watches Yang go, and she can’t help but feel dumb not for having predicted it.

Yang, who was unpredictable in everything he did, as impeccably messy as the wind shifting on a stormy day. Yang, who used to wink at her amidst light innuendos and propositions, who she’d danced with that night, eyes bloated and baggy and tired. Yang, who had taken a punch for her more than once. Who had lost an arm for her.

Blake watches her go, and she knows she deserves to feel this. The knife twist in her, the metaphorical accumulation of so much grief as the cruel hand doing the twisting.

She’d said nothing. She was seeing Yang again, after so long, after _so much shit had gone down._ And Blake was stunned into silence. Her words, so often practiced, so rehearsed into perfection, were caught up in her throat. And she’d said nothing. And Yang had looked at her once, for way too long, too accommodating even in this situation, and she’d taken off without looking back.

A tear rolls off from Blake’s eyes. She’d run so far away from everything, from herself, from Yang. Menagerie hadn’t brought her peace, it had brought her memories. And regrets. And more closeness with Sun, which she knows she should be frowning upon. She knows what he wants, what people typically do. And she knows why she doesn’t want that.

Blake’s a runner. She’s run all her life, from the people around her, from the fear in her country, from herself. But she will not run from this again.

She’s lost too much. Because she’s stupid and she’s alone, and she doesn’t know what she should do other than keep moving on, hope life will catch up one day.

Blake doesn’t run from Yang now. She runs _to_ her. Black hair in the wind, she chases Yang’s bike. She chases the material representation of who Yang is, of what Blake has missed so much about her.

“WAIT!” she yells. Another tear falls. She doesn’t wipe it away. She keeps running.

She knows she’ll run out of breath soon, she knows she’ll never reach the cloud of smoke hiding Yang from her. She knows. She knows Yang will not hear her scream.

She’s drowning in a smoke of her own, but she doesn’t stop. Maybe Yang has changed too much, maybe she still hates Blake for taking off without a word. Yang had lost an _arm,_ and Blake hadn’t been there.

She keeps running, limbs aching, lungs on the brink of exhaustion, hot and raw. Blake imagines Yang waking up in an aseptic room, surrounded by a crying Ruby, and her dad, and their friends. Nora would’ve made jokes, Jaune would’ve cried too. And Yang… God, Blake can’t even imagine her reaction. She has no way to know if Yang broke down or if she cracked jokes to lighten the mood and wept on her own when everybody had left. She should’ve been there. She shouldn’t have left like that.

“Yang!” she screams, voice raspy against her pink throat. She can’t run much more. She can’t hold herself up anymore. What for? Yang is leaving. Yang has _left._ And Blake deserves this.

So Blake falls on her knees against the tarmac, the smell of the turbines the only thing she has now to remember Yang by. The last thread of her she is allowed to keep. Blake closes her eyes and sobs once.

Maybe Yang looked for her, at first. Armless and alone, maybe she’d been stubborn enough to _miss_ Blake that much. Missing someone hurt so much, maybe Yang had _ached_ like Blake had, even more. Enough to drive her to look for the person who had abandoned her, and who probably would again.

Blake sobs again. How tragic it is to realize, she thinks, that everybody in Yang’s life seems to be a flight risk. A kid without a mum, with a dad that’s still nursing veteran wounds, a no-show uncle, and a sister to protect. Yang had grown up as head of the family without her even realizing it. And she’d kept others safe, as well as herself.

And she’d ditched that, Yang had completely forgone her own safety—her own life at risk—for Blake.

Blake, who never said much except to comment on improvements nobody else saw. Blake, who had always hesitated to trust her, to let her in, to show her the truth if not actually tell her. Blake, who had left.

Why had Blake left? Had she been scared of admitting to herself how much she wanted to stay? Had she been scared, in the end, of staying?

She sniffs the tears away and opens her blotchy wet eyes again. She needs to leave. Move on. Do what she does best and disappear. But there’s yellow amidst the smoke she’s inhaling.

Blurry yellow that grows and grows in intensity, until Blake realizes what’s going on and can’t even muster enough strength to get up from the floor. How pathetic, she thinks.

But she looks up even with all her courage gone. She stares into Yang’s crimson eyes. And she sees all she’s tortured herself for. Resentment, pain, a darkness that Adam had instilled in them forever by drawing his weapon—no, a darkness that was only Blake’s fault. She’d done this. She’d turned off the light in Yang. And Yang had emerged from it, and is standing there right now.

Yang looks like a dream to Blake. Golden hair flapping in the wind around her, eyes glimmering with all the rage in the world—soft, patient rage. Blake starts crying again, silently this time, at the sight of the prosthetic arm.

Yang says nothing, stays where she is, powerful and untouchable—Blake’s final judge.

Then Blake’s mouth opens, dull and wet and messy, as the words she says over and over.

“I’m sorry…” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.” She can’t look at Yang anymore. She _shouldn’t._

They fall into quietness, and Blake almost feels the silence bursting out of her when Yang sighs loudly.

“Get up”, she commands, tired. “And say it to my face.”

“I’m sorry…” Blake sobs again, barely audibly. She feels Yang exasperatingly pulling at her arm to help her stand up, to force her up. And Blake just takes it without struggling. What’s the point? She deserves this. She always has. She expects the punch. She awaits her moral execution.

Their eyes lock. They are linked together, and Yang and Blake are aware of that. There is too much that those eyes have seen, together, as one. Too many strategies followed without hesitation, without doubting one another. So much pain. Pain Blake feels as her own, even if it isn’t. She feels the phantom limb that isn’t hers, and she bites her lip to keep the tears from spilling too fast.

Yang’s eyes suddenly turn violet again, and she looks down, but says nothing. Yang, who would never shut up, no matter the situation, no matter how bad the fight was, is silent now.

“I shouldn’t have left,” Blake says.

Yang inhales deeply. “No,” she says. Her eyelashes look timidly humid. Then she smiles a little, like she used to, smirky but not too much. Distant enough, careful. “You look like shit.”

Blake actually laughs at that, still shedding tears against her will and strongest efforts.

“You don’t,” she replies. Her voice sounds better now, less like a sob story. More like someone who can carry a half-decent conversation with the person she’d thought lost forever. Blake’s heart seems to realize then that Yang is not gone forever; it starts pounding, heat flooding her like a cascade of lava. Her fingers tremble, so she crosses her arms to hide the shaking. “You look… good,” she tells Yang, attempting a smile too. Small but truthful. Blake’s best smile. Yang remembers how she could’ve fallen into the smile as if it was a pit, and stayed there forever, trapped between those two thin lips for eternity. Yang would’ve died happy in that smile.

“Of course I fucking do, Blake, I’ve been out there turning myself into someone who can put up a good fight,” Yang says, “but I wonder what kind of shit you’ve been getting yourself into to look like all you’ve done is lose yourself as well as a few pounds.”

Out of a sudden burst of something unnamable in Blake’s gut, her jittery fingers wrap around Yang’s gloved hand, and she squeezes them gently. Yang seems to get the breath knocked out of her.

“Missing you,” Blake admits in low voice. She feels like they’re too kids on the playground, unsure of what’s going on, unsure of how to talk to each other.

“What was that?” Yang asks. Blake can’t tell if she’s being an ass on purpose.

“I missed you,” Blake says again.

“Good,” Yang says after a while, nodding. She doesn’t move her hand away. “Now I’m here, so let’s get you back into shape, okay? We gotta save the world.” She smiles so softly, Blake has to close her eyes to breathe. To remind herself to function normally. To refrain from making yet another mistake.

But Yang makes it for her instead.

Yang, who probably regretted her choice of taking off on her bike the second she left. Yang, who is back now, who is letting Blake hold her hand without screaming at her that she’s the most selfish asshole she’s ever met. Yang, who looks like a goddess in this light, in the colors she’s wearing now. Yang, who Blake doesn’t want to let out of her sight ever again if she can help it. Yang, who leans in abruptly as always, and initiates a wet kiss that Blake wouldn’t have dreamed of ever seeing coming.

Blake closes her eyes, and grabs a fistful of Yang’s clothes to pull her closer mid-kiss.

Maybe, she thinks, it makes sense…

Maybe it’s always made sense.

**Author's Note:**

> Yang is … calmer than expected in this hehehe


End file.
